


One Big Exhale

by supras



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Hospitals, Louis can never turn down a bet, M/M, Minor Injuries, Tomlinshaw - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 21:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2323928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supras/pseuds/supras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an idiot. He’s always been the first to admit it: in interviews talking about the band’s shenanigans in general, sitting on Niall’s bathroom floor with shaky arms wrapped around the toilet as he fights the spins (again), the stupid fucking Peru video.</p>
<p>In which Louis can never say no to a challenge and ends up injured, but Nick is a better person than he'd thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Big Exhale

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this on tumblr: "Run into each other in a hospital while there for really stupid reasons."
> 
> So I don't even know what this is. I don't. I ship GRYLES? But I saw the above and pictured Louis and Nick and here we are. Now someone please go tie me to a chair and make me finish every thing else.

Louis is an idiot. He’s always been the first to admit it: in interviews talking about the band’s shenanigans in general, sitting on Niall’s bathroom floor with shaky arms wrapped around the toilet as he fights the spins (again), the stupid fucking _Peru video_.

But in the grand scope of things, agreeing when Liam challenged him to a foot race up the grassy hill behind the studio in the morning London mist will go down in the books as one of the stupidest things he’s ever done.

Liam is a runner, even after all these years.

Louis never has been and sure as hell isn’t now.

“I’m dying,” he gasps as he turns so he’s flat on his back at the bottom of the hill next to the pavement. He clutches at his shoulder with his left hand, the fingers of his right weak with the pain and something else, and the nerves in his arm going from that odd sort of tingling when they fall asleep to searing pain from his fingers to his clavicle.

“You’re not, mate,” Liam says as he skitters to a stop beside him, feet slipping on the wet grass not unlike Louis’ had done. Though definitely unlike Louis, Liam stays in control of his body instead of taking a tumble head over heels down the hill before landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Still, his ashen face appears in the line of Louis’ blurred vision, blocking out the grey sky Louis had been trying to focus on instead of the pain.

“What hurts?”

“My collar,” Louis groans and grasps at the neck of his shirt, trying to yank it down to see if there’s blood or anything _wrong_.

He hears Liam’s sharp intake of breath as his fingers run across the swell where the bone should be smooth. He yelps when he touches it, swollen and tender and igniting in sharp pain beneath his fingers. Louis writhes against it, back arching which only succeeds in putting more pressure on his clavicle. He gasps again and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m going for Paul,” Liam says as he gets to his feet. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t move, he says,” Louis mocks through gritted teeth, watching Liam scamper back into the building for help. “Like I’m going anywhere.”

As he lies there on the grass, damp and cold seeping through the back of his thin t-shirt he fights the need to shiver. The pain has radiated to his toes as a hard ache, his collar bone still throbbing, and shaking only amplifies it until he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. He might black out for a moment from the sharpness of it when it overwhelms him, but then Liam is back with Paul and someone from their management team. Molly, Louis thinks her name is, is already on her mobile having rung for an ambulance. Her voice sounds far off, muddled somehow.

“Try not to move, lad,” Paul says as the rest of the band come out from the building after being rounded up from the various places they were taking their break. “Medics will be here in no time.”

They really are, Louis can hear a siren shrieking towards them in a matter of moments. Zayn’s got a pinched look on his face, tucked under Harry’s arm, who has Niall tucked under the other. They all look pale with worry, but don’t ask if he’s alright because he so very clearly isn’t.

Honestly Louis is just surprised no one is chastising him.

“I’m so sorry,” Liam is saying at his side as the ambulance pulls up a minute later. Louis waves at him dismissively with his good arm but says nothing. He can’t say anything really, words lodged in his throat from the pain. But it isn’t Liam’s fault – after all, when has Louis _ever_ turned down a little competition?

“Do you want to tell us what happened, love?” one of the medics asks as she slips a stiff plastic brace around his neck.

“Slipped and fell, landed on my shoulder,” Louis explains shortly and tries not to cringe away when she checks his pupils for dilation with a pen light.

She makes a sympathetic noise.

“Your clavicle is broken, but we’re going to get you to the hospital so they can patch you up, okay?”

With the help of the other medic, they slide the bright orange board beneath him, careful not to jostle him too much. He bites down hard on his bottom lip against the gasp that bubbles up to crash into the back of his teeth.

Somewhere in the background he can vaguely hear Paul telling the others they can’t go to the hospital.

“You have a full schedule,” Paul reminds them firmly, “that won’t be cancelled just because _one_ of you’s gone and banged himself up. We’ll see how it goes.”

Zayn opens his mouth to protest, probably with his favourite _all for one and one for all_ nonsense that Louis is sure is a reference to something that he doesn’t know, but Paul puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and he backs down.

“Let us know as soon as you know anything, yeah?” Harry requests.

“Of course.”

“Alright, then, here we go,” the other medic, the tall one Louis would probably think was fit under other circumstances, says as the gurney is lifted into the back of the ambulance.

Paul climbs into the passenger seat next to the driver, giving orders to Paddy and Molly to keep the others in line and on schedule.

“On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain you can imagine, how are you feeling?” the kind medic asks as the vehicle jerks into motion.

Louis contemplates the question, remembering the time he’d hurt his foot in Barbados and all the times he’s gotten tattoos. This is so much _worse_.

“Eight?” he guesses.

Another sympathetic sound and then a cool swab of alcohol on his arm followed by the prick of a needle. The effect is nearly immediate. Though the pain doesn’t go away entirely, something warm spreads through his veins until the ache is lessened.

“You’re my new favourite,” he tells her gratefully and she merely laughs and pats his hand.

Arriving at the hospital and being placed on the curtained off cot in the little area of the A&E used to triage and assist patients with non-life-threatening injuries is a bit of  blur of dull pain and watching the ceiling tiles above him. He only vaguely pays attention to the nurse who checks his vitals again before she assures him he’ll be taken for an xray soon and leaves.

“Do you need anything, Lou?” Paul asks as they’re left alone to wait for their turn for tests.

“Water, please?” Louis requests, his mouth already beginning to go dry from the medication.

Paul nods and offers him an encouraging smile before slipping through the curtains.

Louis closes his eyes again and listens to the sounds of the department around him. There’s a scuffle in the area outside his little curtained room, someone huffing and grumbling under their breath before –

“For God’s sake, Finchy, I can _walk_.”

Louis’ eyes snap open, pulse accelerating. He _knows_ that voice, most of the nation knows that voice, it’s –

“Grimshaw?”

There’s a long pause before Nick’s head pokes through the gap of the curtains near the foot of Louis’ cot.

“Tomlinson? What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” he asks, eyes widening.

“Broken clavicle,” Louis says dumbly and stares as Nick’s entire body comes into view now. He’s favouring his left leg, leaning heavily on his right and Matt’s arm. Even with his quiff mussed and features pinched from pain he looks well _fit_ and Louis wonders if the drugs are making him insane.“You?”

“Tripped over Pig,” Nick replies looking severely annoyed, whether with Pig or himself Louis isn’t sure. “Think it’s just a sprain, I can walk and everything.”

“I’m sure you can,” Louis  agrees and tries not to laugh when Matt mouths _of course he can’t_ behind Nick’s back.

“Don’t you patronise me too,” Nick says indignantly. His face softens then when his eyes sweep over Louis lying on the cot in front of him. It makes Louis shiver. They’re not _friends_ really, never have been anything more than casual acquaintances who are often at the same parties and events. But there’s something about the way Nick looks at him that ignites the fire in the pit of Louis’ stomach. “How bad is it?”

“Probably need surgery,” Louis replies and Nick’s mouth pinches in concern.

“Do you need me to do anything? Ring your mum? How’d it even happen?”

“No, Paul’s already done that but thanks. I fell on a hill, and either way, aren’t you supposed to be getting treatment too?”

“He is,” Matt insists and begins to manhandle Nick away and down the hall where his own cot is waiting. Louis almost wants to beg them not to go, but his strange concern for Nick’s wellbeing and desire to not make an arse out of himself keep him from it. It scares him actually. “See you, Louis.”

Paul chooses that moment to return with a bottle of water in his hands.

“Was that Nick and Matt?” he asks, one eyebrow quirked.

Louis nods wordlessly and accepts the water.

He does in fact need surgery is the verdict an hour later when the x-ray shows a compound fracture of his clavicle. It could be far worse, the surgeon tells him when he stops in as Louis’s being prepped for surgery not twenty minutes after the films have come back. It’s only broken in one place, an easy fix with a couple of pins, and surgery shouldn’t take but an hour and a half. His mum can’t come down from Doncaster because of the twins and the lads are at an interview so it’s only Paul to say goodbye to in the hallway outside of the surgery.

Paul squeezes Louis’s hand and pats his head where his hair is covered by a flimsy blue cap to keep it back.

“I’ll let everyone know what’s going on,” he says. “You’re going to be alright.”

Louis swallows hard and nods again, squeezing back.

\--

Louis’ body feels heavy, weighted down by drugs and the cotton blanket tucked around him. He struggles against it as he comes to, sleep slowly fading only to be replaced by pain.

He groans and lifts his good hand to his throbbing head. The simple movement increases the pain in his collarbone and he wants to cry.

“Try not to move too much,” a quiet voice says as a gentle hand grasps his wrist to settle his arm down again.

“Nick?”

Nick’s hesitant face in the chair beside the bed swims into focus when Louis’ eyes blink open. He looks better than he had before, still concerned but much less pale and hair flat against his forehead now. His foot is propped up on a second chair, wrapped in a plaster cast. 

“Yeah, Lou.”

 “What are you doing here?” he asks and closes his eyes again, wishing he could go back to sleep in a world where there wasn’t pain and his heart didn’t flutter at Nick Grimshaw calling him _Lou_.

“Paul’s off coordinating your schedule and your lads are at an interview, and I didn’t –“ Nick pauses to look down at his hands where they’re twisted in his lap. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Harry always insisted Nick had a heart of gold despite how he came off on the radio, but Louis had always chosen not to believe him until now.

“That’s quite nice of you, Grimshaw,” he admits and cracks one eye open again. “Thanks.”

Nick merely blinks at him in surprise.

“That’s it? You’re not going to take the piss? No ‘ugh Grimshaw, you knob?’”

“Shut up, Grimshaw you knob,” Louis says and turns his hand over to hold it out. He’s lying in a hospital bed and Nick is here on his own accord and looking stupidly fit, so he might as well. “Now hold my hand and hit the button so the nurse will bring me drugs. I need them to look at your mug.”

Nick laughs but does as he’s asked, reaching over to grasp Louis’ fingers carefully in one hand and press the call button with the other.

“It’s a nice mug though, admit it.”

Louis will admit nothing, but he hopes the smile he gives in response does.


End file.
